Stings. You scream like hell. Call people after you google, “Austin emergency 78702.”
What does this have to do with my program?
It’s indicative of how life gets in the way.
I had two recording devices ready to conduct an interview for research I’m doing for a class (and may fold into dissertation work someday). I was planning to interview a teacher at the middle school regarding his approach to critical pedagogy. I’m not sure he calls it that, but what I’ve heard about his teaching and my brief interactions indicate he puts theory into practice toward liberatory education with his students.
I had garlic, onion, limes, mole sauce, tomatoes, and cucumbers lining the kitchen counters. I was going to make chicken mole (a favorite Mexican dish of mine) for him. As a small offering of my appreciation. He said he’d be glad to come to my house for the interview. And after a meal, we’d talk. With recording devices rolling.
Of course that meant shopping beforehand. I finished unpacking the last of the beer, and I heard, “bzzzzzz, bzzzzzz, bzzzzzzz.” A bee had gotten stuck inside the blinds of the back window. I tried to gently shoo him out of the blinds, opening the door to let him free, to no avail. And twenty minutes later, he had neatly positioned himself beneath my left foot. I didn’t see him, of course, and he had his way with me.
I screamed. And yelled, hollered, raised a ruckus. Tore apart the contents of a basket of toiletries in the bathroom looking for tweezers. Felt the venom of anger inside me, knowing I’m allergic to bees as I pulled the stinger out. It hurt worse. I called people. No one answered. One person who did answer heard me yelling because I thought my cell phone hadn’t connected yet.
I live in a new city. Where’s the hospital? Google it. No luck. Call a stranger in Austin and get advice. My new cell phone somehow erased all my contacts (including local ones), so I was stuck. But I have one professor’s cell phone programmed into my new list of 8 or so contacts. No answer. Called my mom (a nurse). Got advice (including a gentle version of “Settle the hell down”). Called the university nurse. Consensus: Go to the hospital. Googled husband’s work colleague because husband wasn’t picking up the phone. Colleague quickly assured me she’d find him at all costs. Husband comes home in a rush, I have canceled my interview and left all the food on the counter, and we leave.
Big crowds. Lots of coughing. Two separate waiting rooms. One for the really sick and one for the moderately paranoid. My swelling never got too bad (was it the Benadryl Mom had prescribed?). The doctor was nice but said I need to get real allergy tests; maybe I’m not allergic after all (just hysterical?). My last bee sting over a decade ago was ugly… there was some kind of reaction going on.
No interview. Haven’t finished the reading I need to for tomorrow. But my foot is fine, and I’m back at home. I guess we’ll reschedule. And the reading will get as finished as it can. Goodnight.
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